


Love Makes Us Sick

by ThatRavenclawBitch



Series: Love or Power [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2016-01-20
Packaged: 2018-02-23 01:53:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2529659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatRavenclawBitch/pseuds/ThatRavenclawBitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Melissabosquez prompted: We still love each other but can't be together angst smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Don't Speak

He hadn’t seen her in two weeks. He wasn’t even sure how that was possible in Storybrooke.

His shop was just across the street from her library but he never saw her coming or going. He’d taken to walking past Granny’s several times a day in hopes of spying her, but he never did. It was as if she’d vanished from his life completely. It was nothing more than he deserved.

He knew she didn’t want to see him, but he had to keep an eye on her, to make sure she was safe. The only reason he knew she was alright was because Archie Hopper had volunteered the information to him one afternoon. He didn’t want to think about how pathetic he must look wandering around outside the Bed and Breakfast for that cricket to take pity on him. 

She’d been so angry with him when she’d realized the dagger was a fake. She’d told him that his power did mean more to him than her, and as hard as he tried to refute it she wouldn’t listen. He didn’t blame her. Actions spoke louder than words and his actions had been so very cruel. Never mind that he hadn’t been able to so much as look at that accursed hat since she’d left. None of that really seemed to matter anymore.

She’d packed a bag and left the house, a house he could no longer bear the sight of. He’d taken to sleeping at the shop most nights, not that the memories there were any better. The first time he’d seen her, after a lifetime of thinking her dead, was in that shop.

It was that thought that finally drove him back to the pink house. Nothing could be worse than sitting in his shop, reliving the moment he’d found her again knowing she was now lost to him forever.

He’d poured himself a glass of whisky, sitting down in his living room to stare off into space for the evening, he didn’t sleep much anymore, when there was a knock on the front door.

He stared into the fireplace, determining not to answer, when the knock came again, more insistent.

Whatever crisis the Charmings had got themselves into, they could solve on their own. He was done helping. He was done with every last one of them.

When the knock came again, he leapt to his feet, looking forward to chasing them off his porch. Maybe he’d turn David into a yappy little puppy. That would teach them.

He threw open the door, curses on his lips, when the words died in his throat.

"Belle!" he gasped at the sight of his wife in front of him. She looked pale, her eyes rimmed with red, her mouth set in a grim line. She looked as miserable as he felt. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes on.

“What are you – ”

“Don’t speak,” Belle interrupted him. “I need this, but you can’t say a word.”

He simply nodded, stunned. If she’d come to talk to him, or rather at him, maybe all hope wasn’t lost. He’d stay quiet for eternity if she wanted him to.

She stepped across the threshold, shutting the door behind her, then turned around to face him.

“I just…” she stammered. “I need this.”

Then she did the last thing Rumple ever expected. She grabbed him by the lapels and pulled him down to her, kissing him soundly.

He gasped against her mouth in surprise and Belle took the opportunity to slip her tongue into his mouth, deepening the kiss. Her hands slid up to tangle in his hair, and without even thinking, his wrapped around her waist.

He didn’t think he’d ever get the chance to kiss her again, and yet here she was. Rumplestitlskin wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t dreaming, passed out in the armchair in front of the fire. But if it was a dream, he didn’t want to wake up.

Belle broke away from him at long last, gasping for breath.

“Belle, what –”

“Please,” she interrupted him again, pushing at his shoulders and maneuvering him back toward the living room. “Please just…please?”

He nodded again, letting her push him down onto the sofa before she straddled him, her skirt hiking up around her hips as she did so making it apparent she wasn’t wearing any panties. Rumplestiltskin groaned in spite of himself. She’d come here with one thing in mind, it seemed.

She gripped him by the hair, pulling him back for a kiss as he let his hands wander, sliding from her waist down to cup her perfect rear end. Belle moaned against his mouth, her hands dropping to his belt and quickly undoing it, his button and fly. Before he knew it, his half hard cock was in Belle’s hot little hand as she stroked him, her lips never leaving his.

And gods but this felt amazing, right, just where he was always meant to be. But then again, physical intimacy had never been one of their issues. It was communicating, letting her in completely to see all the darkness that he tried to keep hidden from her, that was their problem. The sex was easy.

His cock was aching, straining against her hand by the time Belle lifted herself up on her knees and sank down on to him. He let out a harsh groan, gripping her hips and throwing his head back as she began to move against him, her movements hard and frantic. This wasn’t like the times they’d made love before. There was nothing gentle about it. Belle was taking from him, using him, and he let her.

He reached up to undo her blouse, to worship her breasts, but Belle swatted his hand away, pinning his shoulders to the back of the couch as she rode him hard.

Soon she was coming apart, tightening around him until he couldn’t bear it any longer and he gripped her hips thrusting up into her. Belle screamed, shaking with the intensity of her orgasm as she slumped against him and he followed soon after.

They lay there on the sofa, still mostly clothed and breathing hard and Rumple kept his promise and didn’t say a word. He wrapped his arms around her, kissing her forehead and that seemed to jolt Belle out of her malaise.

She shook off his embrace, standing and pulling her skirt down to cover herself.

“This doesn’t change anything,” she said sadly, tears spilling from her eyes. “I still love you, but it doesn’t change anything.”

Rumple tucked himself away, standing to reach for her but Belle slipped out of his grasp.

“Don’t follow me,” she whispered in a broken sob. And then she ran out the front door before he could even compose his thoughts into a coherent sentence.

At the beginning of the night he’d thought there could be nothing worse than sitting at the shop, but now it seemed there was nothing worse than coming home. It wasn’t home anymore. He didn’t have one. All he had was the empty, cold feeling in his chest that he had broken them. And there was no way to put them back together.


	2. Don't Follow

It was a week before Rumplestiltskin saw Belle again, his mind still reeling from their last encounter. She still loved him, and that gave him hope. But perhaps there were things that even true love couldn’t overcome. He’d always considered it the world’s most powerful magic, but nothing so pure could survive in the face of his darkness.

And he was darkness, there was no doubt about that. He was broken, utterly destroyed, by the loss of Belle. And yet he still clung to his power, unable to let go. At his darkest moments, his mind needled him that Belle could never truly love him. If she did she wouldn’t have left. All she wanted was to use him, like everyone else. Just look at how she’d used the dagger against him, not realizing it was a fake.

His rational mind knew that was a falsehood, but the sick, cowardly part of him, the part that sulked in shadows, told him it was truth. It was like he carried around the Snow Queen’s mirror in his own mind. No wonder the mirror’s powers didn’t work on him. It couldn’t tell him anything he hadn’t told himself one hundred times over.

No one hated Rumplestiltskin as much as Rumplestiltskin hated himself.

The idea that Belle didn’t love him, only wanted to use him, was only furthered the next time he saw her. He’d entered Granny’s for a cup of coffee one Tuesday morning, only to see Belle seated at the counter, morosely pushing around a stack of pancakes but not really eating.

She looked up at him with wide eyes, her fork clattering against the countertop as it fell from her grip. A hush fell over the diner, the patrons turning in their chairs and craning their necks to get a look at the Dark One and his estranged wife. Rumple was used to attracting stares, hushed stories of his fearsome deals accompanying him wherever he went in town. His reputation made sure people feared him, and his relationship with Belle had been an oddity from the start. But he’d never experienced such open, hungry looks. He’d never been fodder for gossip.

He felt the skin prickling on the back of his neck under the scrutiny of so many eyes. After a moment of silence, his stare locked with Belle’s, she scooted off her stool and walked quickly to the back of the diner toward the back door.

It was a split second decision. She’d said she didn’t want to speak to him, even when he was fucking her she didn’t want to speak to him. But her eyes haunted him, large and sad in her pale face. He had to follow her.

"Belle, wait," he called as he rushed after her down the hallway at the back of the diner that led to the inn, the door swinging shut behind him and finally cutting off the stares of the town. He felt relief from their scrutiny wash over him.

Belle spun around on her heel.

"I need space," she demanded. "I can’t…I can’t be around you."

"Tell me how to fix this," he pleaded, keeping a respectful distance from her, his hands up in supplication. "Tell me what to do…"

His words were cut off as Belle strode toward him, seizing him by the arm and pulling him into the women’s bathroom to his right. She flipped the lock before turning to face him.

"What…" he began, confused.

"You don’t fix it," Belle interrupted. "You can’t."

She glared at him, her blue eyes as hard as chips of ice. He’d never seen her look so angry, as if the sadness of their separation had burned off leaving her fueled by anger. 

Rumple wasn’t sure who made the first move, but one moment they were staring at each other in a silent stalemate, and the next he was kissing her, his mouth slanting over hers, his tongue dipping in to taste her. Belle’s hands roamed his back, pulling at his shirt beneath his suit jacket until she freed it from his trousers.

Her hands came around to undo his belt as he trailed kisses down her neck, nipping at her collar bone until she gasped.

"Belle," he moaned against her neck as her hands found their way into his pants, grasping at his cock. "We can’t do this again."

"Shut up," she whispered harshly, stroking him. "For once in your life just shut the fuck up."

Rumple pulled back at that, gazing down at her quizzically. He’d never actually heard her curse before, and he wasn’t quite sure why the word tumbling over her lips brought him to full hardness. He’d rather not examine that impulse right now. 

"Do you want me?" she asked, continuing to stroke him until he was thrusting against her hand, trying desperately for the friction his body craved.

He knew he should say no. He knew it was folly. Belle was looking for one thing from him at the moment, and it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. But she was here, looking at him, meeting his eyes. Even if she wouldn’t talk about their situation, at least he got to see her. He wanted all of her, but for now he’d take what he could get.

"Yes," he rasped out.

She pulled her hand from his pants, causing him to bite back a whine of protest, and turned around, flipping her skirt up and pulling her tights and panties down in one swift movement.

"Then take me," she said, bracing her hands against the bathroom sink and meeting his eyes in the mirror.

Rumple deliberated for a moment. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to take Belle against a bathroom counter in the middle of Granny’s. He wanted to take her home, spread her out across their bed and make love to her. He wanted to spend all day dedicated to her pleasure, making her come until her body ached and she couldn’t stand. He wanted to get down on his knees in penance for everything he’d done, show her with gentle touches just how much he loved her and how much she meant to him.

But her perfect rear end was on display, her gorgeous cunt glistening with her arousal, and he couldn’t deny her. For whatever reason, Belle wanted him even if it was only his body. He wouldn’t hold back.

He stepped up behind her, unfastening his pants and letting them drop to the tile floor. Gripping her hips, he pushed in to her from behind.  

Belle moaned, arching her back as she pushed back against him. He gripped the counter on either side of her, burying his face against her neck at the sweet relief of being buried in her body once again.

"Move," Belle urged, pushing back against him once more. "Please, I need it. Please."

Rumple growled against her neck, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back into her. Belle’s hips banged against the counter bruisingly, but at the moment he didn’t care. She wanted it rough, emotionless, hard and fast. She didn’t want his love or his tenderness, only to scratch an itch she apparently couldn’t manage for herself. She was using him just as assuredly as he’d used her all those months of their marriage. He’d used her as an alibi, used her trust in him as a cover for his dealings with the Snow Queen. If she wanted to use him now, she was more than welcome. 

"Gods, Rumple," she moaned as he slammed into her again and again, setting up a punishing pace.

He moved a hand down to rub at her clit, biting her shoulder to stave off his own release. He wasn’t going to last and he needed her to come before him. He would not, could not, fail her in this simple task.

He sent a whisper of magic down between her legs, radiating and tingling until she was tightening like a vice around his cock, crying out, her legs spasming as she reached her climax. 

The sight of her face in the bathroom mirror, eyes screwed shut and mouth open in a silent scream was enough to have him emptying himself deep within her, slumping against her back.

They stood there, propped against the sink for stability, as their breathing returned to normal. It could have been minutes or hours later, but at long last, Belle met his eyes in the mirror. Hers were filled with tears.

"Belle," he gasped, startled, pulling out of her and spinning her around to face him.

"Don’t," she said with a shake of her head, wiping at the tears angrily. "Just, don’t."

He tried to pull her into his arms, tried to comfort her, but she pulled away. She straightened her clothes, checking her hair in the mirror, before turning to face him once more.

"Don’t follow me," she said, reiterating her sentiment after the last time they’d been together. "Wait a few minutes before you leave."

"Sweetheart, please," he pleaded. "We can’t go on like this."

But Belle just shook her head, pressing her index finger against his lips to silence him.

"This doesn’t change anything," she said, her voice wavering slightly.

And then she turned and left the bathroom.

Rumplestiltskin waited until the click of her high heels had receded down the hall. Then he slammed his fist into that bathroom mirror again and again until the sink was littered with broken glass and his own blood.

He stared at his fractured reflection, hating himself more than the Snow Queen’s mirror ever could have exposed.


	3. Don't Leave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey! Anyone remember this story?

Toxic. That was the only word Rumplestiltskin could think of for what his relationship with Belle had devolved into. They’d been separated for months now, neither one taking any concrete steps to permanently end their marriage and instead languishing in an eternal in between state. But what had started as a sadness and anger-fueled mistake had turned into a weekly standing engagement, one he anticipated all week and then hated himself for in the aftermath. Every week he told himself he wouldn’t do it this time. He wouldn’t succumb. He would leave well enough alone. But like clockwork he found himself outside Room 4 at Granny’s Bed & Breakfast, where Belle had seemingly taken up permanent residence though she’d never told him as much, every Tuesday afternoon. 

Belle would answer the door, barely looking at him as she stood to the side to allow him entrance to her room. Then they would tear at each other’s clothes, biting and scratching and _fucking_ in a way they never had when they were together, when they were married. When it was over, sometimes Belle would let him hold her for a few moments before she remembered that she hated him now. Rumple lived for those stolen moments, the quiet after the tempest when he could wrap his arms around her, bury his face in her hair and pretend that everything was as it once was. But inevitably Belle would shake him off, quietly ask him to leave, and Rumple would depart with a little bit more of his blackened heart crumbled into dust.

And so it continued, this hellish routine like slowly ripping a bandage from a still open wound when finally, after weeks of torment, Rumplestiltskin had enough.

“Are you through punishing me?” he asked sourly, watching as Belle quickly dressed at the edge of the bed but making no move to clothe himself as he leaned against the pillows.

Belle looked up, startled. By her own imposed rules, they didn’t talk more than was strictly necessary, their conversation limited to gasps of “harder”, litanies and curses that escaped during the heat of passion. Real conversation wasn’t allowed.

“Punishing you?” she repeated, blinking at him in confusion as she buttoned up her blouse. “I've been sleeping with you for weeks how is that the least bit punishing?” 

Rumplestiltskin scoffed. They weren’t sleeping together. They never slept. He wished Belle still trusted him enough to curl up in his arms and drift off to sleep. But he’d abused that trust. During their marriage it was after Belle had fallen asleep, sated in his arms, that he would sneak out, accomplishing his dark deeds in the dead of night.

“And since when has that ever been what I wanted from you?” he snapped, standing from the bed at long last and grabbing his trousers off the floor.

“You don't want me?” Belle asked in a small voice that made him look up from scrabbling with his trouser button. She sounded so uncertain, as though he could still hurt her after all this time. As though she weren’t exacting her own slow revenge on him.

“Of course I want you,” he clarified. “I want you because I love you. I love all of you and I want all of you, if I can't have all of you then I might as well have nothing. I've only gone along with this because the only time you speak to me is when my cock is inside you. You avoid me otherwise. Why?”

He finished off, his chest heaving as he stared down his petite little wife.

Belle took a step back, crossing her arms against her chest and looking small, afraid, so far from the Belle he’d known, the Belle he’d married, the Belle he’d broken.

She looked at him with large eyes, luminous in the failing sunlight drifting through the curtains. Her lower lip trembled ever so slightly and Rumple cursed himself for making her cry yet again. But they couldn’t go on like this. If they did, any chance of reconciliation beyond this would be truly destroyed. He didn’t hold out much hope for that, but sleeping with Belle, having just enough of a taste to drive him mad and knowing she’d never truly be his again was exquisite torture, an exercise in self flagellation he could no longer continue.

“Because I can't stay away from you!” she erupted finally, angry tears streaming down her cheeks. She didn’t even try to brush them away. “I tried, but I love you too much. It physically hurts to be away from you Rumple, but I'm still so angry. I don't want to talk to you because I know if I do I'll end up forgiving you and I'm not ready. You hurt me, you broke what we had and I'm not ready to try mending it yet. So this is all I can offer you right now. I'm sorry if it's not enough, but that's on you.”

Rumple had nothing to say to that, nothing to reassure her with. They loved each other, that much had never been in doubt. It was what they could do to each other, how they could use that love to destroy that was the problem. He had used her love of him, her trust, her willingness to see the good in him and turned it against her. Now she was using his love to slowly drive him mad. Love could be powerful magic but it could also be a dangerous weapon. He never knew Belle would be so skilled in wielding it.

“Then what do we do now, Belle?” he asked, hoping she had more of an answer for him now than she did in Granny’s bathroom so many weeks ago. “Because I won’t do this again. I can’t.”

"Fine," she acquiesced. "I'm not forcing you to stay." 

Belle turned away from him, staring out the window that looked out at the tree-lined street below. She gave a quick nod, just a jerk of her head but it was final enough that Rumple knew he’d been dismissed. This was the end then, nothing left between them, not even this self-destructive shadow of what they once were. Perhaps True Love wasn’t as powerful as he’d once thought.

He pulled his shirt on with numb fingers, a sharp ache in his chest every time he took a breath. It wasn’t until he was fully dressed, tie and jacket back in order, the armor of Mr. Gold firmly in place, that either of them spoke again.

“Goodbye then, Belle,” he said sadly. He didn’t want this to continue, not like this. But that didn’t make it any easier to walk away from her. It had never been easy to walk away from her and yet he constantly did always trying to spare her from the monster. Now Belle knew the monster first hand, had been hurt by him intimately and yet they were still here. Only now he was leaving to spare himself. If he was to preserve any of his heart he couldn’t do this anymore. 

She was still staring out the window not facing him. Her shoulders began to shake beneath the soft white cotton of her shirt and it took everything in Rumple’s considerable power to uproot his feet and head for the door. His fingers found the doorknob of their own accord, twisting it open and staring out into the wallpapered hallway.

“I know it’s not enough,” Belle’s tremulous voice followed him across the room. “It’s not enough for me either, but it’s all I can manage right now. I’m sorry I can’t be stronger.”

Belle was the strongest person he knew. She always had been. To hear her admit weakness was like a blow to his core. If Belle wasn’t strong, where did that leave him? He was a coward, he knew. But for now, he had to do the brave thing. He had to walk away before they hurt each other beyond repair.

“Rumple,” she called after him, her voice halting his steps. He looked back over his shoulder to see that she’d finally turned to face him. She was backlit by the sunset looking every bit like the angel he’d once believed her to be. He’d looked to her to be his salvation and cursed himself when he was still the same dark hearted man he’d always been. But that wasn’t fair. Belle was human and flawed just like him. She wasn’t perfect and to expect her to be loving and forgiving after all he’d done wasn’t fair. She had earned her anger and he had earned his.

“Don’t leave,” she gasped out breathlessly.

He turned back toward the open door only to feel Belle’s hand on his shoulder a moment later.

“I can’t promise you anything,” she said, her hand slipping down his arm, soft fingers caressing the fabric of his suit jacket. “And I know that I’m being selfish and contradictory. But please don’t leave. I'm not ready.”

Her fingers tightened around his forearm and he found he couldn’t move away. His entire world seemed to center on the place where her hand touched him, that alone rooting him so that if the universe imploded around them all that would be left was he and Belle locked in this cage neither could escape even at the end of everything.

He turned slowly, his hand lifting of its own accord to cup her soft cheek. His thumb swiped at the tear tracks marring her perfect face. It was the most gentle he’d been with her in all these long weeks.

Belle’s hand dropped from his arm, gripping on to his lapels instead as she reached up on her tiptoes to press a chaste kiss to his lips, so tender after the fire with which they’d come together earlier. She pulled back slowly as if any sudden movement might break this new spell.

“Don’t leave,” she said again, her voice little more than a whisper as her hands trailed down his lapels, pulling him back in to the room. 

Rumple kicked the bedroom door shut behind them. He was a weak man and he always would be. 


End file.
